OK Stupid; or All's Fair in Love and War

First, a little shout out to Shadow_Nirvana, who has been known to visit and comment here:  I was very sorry to see how some of the ladies piled up on you over at Manboobz yesterday.  What offended me most was one comment that referred to you as "some random dude" when, as far as I know, you've been reading and commenting in that space as long as I have.  

For other readers, to make a long story short:  David Futrelle posted a link to a story about a math whiz who "gamed" OK Cupid in order to get more hits from the kinds of girls he preferred.  What this has to do with "misogyny" I have no idea.  I find this fellow's behavior a bit obsessive and eccentric, but hardly "creepy".  Anyway, most of the ensuing criticism centered on his "cheating".  What "cheating" means in this context is also highly subjective.  I mean, don't we all post our most flattering pictures?  Don't we all omit the least savory aspects of our histories?  When it comes to online dating, as in any form of marketing, caveat emptor.

Shadow_Nirvana simply pointed out that women will "game" systems in order to increase the odds in their favor, so it was perhaps unfair to characterize this as something only men do.  And for this he was immediately and sharply quashed.  (Curiously, everyone assumed Shadow_Nirvana was a male, and I didn't notice that h/she claimed otherwise, but up until then I had no idea of his/her gender and didn't really care.)

Manipulating systems in order to give oneself an advantage is hardly a gendered behavior, of course.  Nor is it necessarily an unethical one.  Shadow_Nirvana's comment could have led to an interesting conversation about the ways women also try to turn tables to their advantage.  But, as we all know, manboobz is not a forum for self-reflection or even tolerance of divergent points of view.  (This is not a criticism, BTW, because I enjoy the website very much and think David does a superlative job monitoring the whacky world of the manosphere, but it's just the nature of a group of this size to become rather rigid and controlled by a few dominant voices.)

Back in the day, when I was a buxom, bodacious blonde, I had a colleague who was always trying to pull me on to blind double dates with various successful, older men, none of whom, unfortunately, I found in the least bit attractive.  I didn't understand why Frances, a tall, slender Scottish lass with masses of gorgeous red hair, exceptional tits, and a rapier-sharp wit, was willing to squander her precious Saturday evenings fending off the lecherous advances of fat, sweaty, balding businessmen.  "I'd go out with a gorilla for a free meal!" Frances would exclaim.  Neither could I understand how Frances could characterize those meals as "free";  from my perspective, they were damn hard work.

However, Shadow_Nirvana would probably assert that Frances was demonstrating one of the most time-honored feminine forms of "gaming the system" and I'd say he was exactly right. 

As I've mentioned before, I used to be a bit of a slut, but I like to think I was always an "ethical slut".  I never let anyone buy me anything once I had made up my mind not to take things to the next level.  In other words, if I knew for certain I did not intend to sleep with a man, I would not allow him to buy me a drink; in fact, I was more likely to buy him a drink (perhaps as a consolation prize?).  I was very careful that way.  On the other hand, if I knew I wanted to have sex with a man, I had no qualms about letting him pick up the tab: I was going to make it all very much worth his while in the near future, and by paying for my meal or my movie, he was demonstrating he was interested too.

That's all in the past now, of course.  Thank God I have finally found someone I can contentedly pair up with and don't have to return to the dating trenches.  

What also struck me about this OK Cupid story (and the many, many references to this particular dating site I have seen) is how technology makes dating even more exhausting and tedious than it was twenty years ago.  I'm sure I'm not the first person to observe that having to sift through huge databases of prospective love interests not only requires hours of monotonous labor, but also the sheer volume of potential suitors has a tendency to ratchet up one's expectations to a stratospheric level.  

When I come home to a pile of unmarked essays, I have been known to steel myself with a stiff martini or two.  I can't imagine having to process a dozen daily missives in my OK Cupid inbox on top of that.

We are drowning in consumer choices, and dating has become no different.  Of course, at some point, most people must "settle".  Has it not been ever thus?  To keep oneself "on the market" forever is to consign oneself to a special level of Hell (and yes, that goes for men as well as women, regardless of what "The Game" boys imagine).

Truly it is one of the few consolations of aging that, even if something were to happen to my SO (God forbid), I am no longer hormonally driven to seek a sexual partner.  If you're not yet post-menopausal, you may not believe this, but just take my word for it:  Loss of libido can be very liberating.

OK, true confession time:  I met my SO online.  She hates me to share this, but we actually met through an ad I placed on craigslist.  This was nearly ten years ago, before craigslist personals had become the sea of utter depravity it now appears to be.   What makes the story unique is that there was no category for what I was seeking (woman for trans), and so only someone who was seeking the exact same unrecognized configuration could have found it.  I didn't have many responses, of course.  The fact that I had hers gave our meeting a magical sense of destiny, or kismet.  I mean, what were the odds?

What's even more amazing is that, in contrast to the unusual way we met, what drew us together was the absolute and utter sense of familiarity we discovered with one another.  Talk about "six degrees of separation"!  My SO and I were born and raised within a few blocks of one another.  Her family attended my sister's church.  She went to summer camp with my brother-in-law.  We hung out at the same roller skating rink.  We played the same games, with many of the same people, and watched the same favorite television programs.  We are both of German-Scandinavian Protestant heritage.  We know exactly what the other's childhood home looked like and smelled like.  I could go on and on, but suffice to say that when we're out and about, strangers often assume we are biological sisters.  It's a vibe we give off, I suppose, which may strike others as unromantic, but is exactly what both of us long for in a partner at our respective ages (mid fifties / mid sixties).

Well, for Pete's sake.  I sat down meaning to muse about the ways women game the dating system, and I wound up telling you all about how I met my partner.  So I'll just have to return to this topic at another time...

The Manosphere Runs on Porn

Mary McCarthy was famously sued for libel for claiming that "Everything Lillian Hellman writes is a lie, including and and the."  Hellman died before the suit went to court, her reputation rather the worse for wear; McCarthy never had to pay damages nor do I believe she ever regretted making the initial accusation.

Let me summon the shade of McCarthy this morning by stating categorically that everything Matt Forney writes about sex is, well, pretty much a lie too.  It has to be.  Because this is a guy who has had very little sexual experience with women, especially not with the women who meet his exacting standards.  Over the years, perhaps, a handful of fat girls have tossed him a bone, which is partly why he rants so much about fat girls (even though & especially because he himself is rather fat).  He can hardly live with the fact that the only young women who would deign to fuck him are fat themselves.

Self-disclosure:  To be honest, I wasn't much different than Matt when I was in my early twenties.  I was rather chubby, the typical "fat girl with a pretty face," and as such, found myself on the margins of the dating market.  I compensated ferociously in various ways, and always managed to keep my dance card full, but I refused to consider the attentions of any man who was fatter or less attractive than myself.  To go out with a fat guy was to admit defeat, to admit I couldn't compete, either.  Until I was well into twenties, I only went after men whom I considered to have a higher "SMV" than I did because until then, the primary purpose of sex for me was to validate my own sense of worth.  (Fast forward to age forty, when I fell madly in love with a guy who weighed 400#, but that's another story...) 

Almost everything Matt Forney knows about sex is based on watching movies. 

He actually rates movies based on which ones have "the best rape scene."  No, you don't have to scratch the surface hard to find the perverse adolescent who is the "Real Matt Forney."

The influence of porn seeps into every nook and cranny of the manosphere -- and, to be fair, of popular American culture in general.  None of us is immune to its influence.  But nowhere is that influence so blatant and striking as in the writing of the New Misogynists.

Think Raquel Welch as Myra Breckenridge.

The physical ideal of femininity for Roosh, for example, looks more like a call girl from the sixties than a Vogue model: big hair, loads of makeup, talon-like nails, surgically augmented breasts, high heels glued to her feet. I'm always amused by the way he and other lady's men like Nick Krauser crib photos of porn actresses or models to illustrate their alleged escapades with captions like, "And she looked just like this!"

Krauser Girls

Dark and sultry

Sure she did, sonny.  Now pull the other one.

The sex the manosphereans describe involves lots of tried-and-true porn moves:  choking women (with either hands or mighty dick), spitting, squirting, ejaculating on faces or clothing, overcoming resistance through physical force.  The women are often reported to scream with ecstasy as the author bangs away like a jackhammer -- and that one last detail, boys, is a sure tip off that someone is lying exaggerating.  (You have seen "When Harry Met Sally", haven't you?  Or the classic "fake, fake, fake" scene between Jerry and Elaine on Seinfeld?  If you want to learn about the true nature of sex from the silver screen, start with those two clips!)

Look, I'm not bragging, but I had quite a bit of sex in my day, and although I am now retired, I proudly maintain my Elder Slut status, yet none of my adventures resembled a porn movie (unless my partners and I were consciously "acting out" a scene, which happened almost never).  

I would bet any amount of money that our "most hated man on the internet" has had extremely limited intimacy with a woman.  Like most of his readers, he is relying on a combination of years of absorbing violent, sexualized imagery and experienced frustration to fuel his fire.  And like most of these "leaders of men", he relies on the fact that his readers are even more naive and limited in their experiences, even more dependent on their wishful imaginations, than he is.

Back to the Kitchen Ladies!

So this week is "Return to Traditional Values" over at Return of Kings, and the boys are twittering up a storm.  This is the sweet, nostalgic side to the New Misogynists.   They just want to find a girl like Mom Grandma.  And judging by the success of Domestic Goddesses like Nigella Lawson and Martha Stewart, there are a lot of women who share this fantasy of Getting Back to the Kitchen.  Too bad the New Economy makes that pretty much impossible for all but the most affluent.

1. Retweeted by Roosh

   John Glanton ‏@ThenTheJudgment 5h

   Does being a partner in a dual-careerist household of symmetrical domestic duties and expectations sound romantic to you? #backtothekitchen

   In fact, it does to me! 
2. Retweeted by Roosh

   runsonmagic ‏@runsonmagic 6h

   When you die, it will be your children, not your co-workers, who mourn for you. 

   Funny, I was just talking about this last night with a girlfriend of mine who is also childless, and we agreed that counting on your kids to mourn you (or even come around and visit you in the nursing home) is kind of an iffy proposition. 
3. Retweeted by Roosh

   Emmanuel Goldstein ‏@Goldsteineum 6h

   The death of a grandmother elicits heartfelt eulogies of the foods she lovingly prepared. #BackToTheKitchen

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   Not my grandmothers, neither of whom was ever considered a good cook (nor was my own mother).  My father claimed that he ate so many fried potatoes and eggs as a child it gave him a headache.  My paternal grandmother later became a strict vegan who survived on pots of gluey oatmeal and soy yogurt.  The only scrap of culinary heritage worth keeping from my grandmothers were their recipes for fruitcake and divinity.  Seriously, I think Americans in general are much better cooks than they used to be -- when they have time.  Sadly, most of us are working outside the home and simply don't have the leisure or energy to spend hours planning and preparing meals.  And all of the nagging from the boys in the manosphere isn't going to change that picture.  I mean, seriously, how are these fellas proposing to support their "traditional" wives?  Even television's favorite Mormon, Kody Brown, depends on the salaries of two of his four wives, and he's got his own reality show.  
   
   BTW, an excellent response to this RoK campaign can be found at Parodoxy. 

Philip Seymour Hoffman is Dead

I am really grieved to learn of Philip Seymour Hoffman's death today.  This song seems fitting.

Entitled Babies, the Lot of 'em

May I just say here how insanely irritating I find it when "professional" PUAs like Roosh refer to seducing women as "work", as in (God-help-me-I'm-not-kidding), "the important work I do," or the disappointment of not getting to intercourse after "putting in hours of hard work."

Excuse my vent, but I have been working for forty consecutive years.  And by "work" I mean:  going to a job every single day, doing what I was told to do to the best of my ability (even when I didn't usually feel like it), and biting my tongue over and over and over again.

Have any of these manospherean bloggers ever held a real job for more than a year?  When did blogging-for-donations while extending one's adolescence beyond thirty become a respectable lifestyle for a man?

I can't post this rant on manboobz cuz someone will accuse me of being "ableist."  

Turning "No" Into "Yes"

So yesterday Facebook took away Roosh's "privileges" for a full 24 hours -- a kind of "time out" -- because of complaints about LMR (Last Minute Resistance), a "rape guide" by Return of Kings author Vincent Vinturi.  Then Amazon, alerted by Huff Po UK, decided to pull the book from its inventory.

Needless to say. the boys over at ROK are pretty steamed at this "attack" on their "freedom of speech", while the gals over at Jezebel are crowing.

Personally, it is a matter of complete indifference to me whether Amazon carries this book or not.  There are plenty of books available that I would probably find even more despicable and offensive. And it's not like this notion (that men can overcome women's initial objections through coercion) is a new or novel approach or isn't the stuff of a hundred years' worth of popular fantasy. 

What these boys don't understand is that media conveyers like Facebook, Twitter, and Amazon are corporations which have the right, nay, the obligation, to refuse custom that they believe will hurt their bottom line.  It probably took Amazon about five minutes flat to figure out that the paltry profits it would get from this execrable self-published tome weren't worth the shit-load of bad PR its existence was creating among its literate customer base, who actually buy real books (and lots of other stuff).  Du-uh!

I read some of the comments over at Huff Po UK.  One male commentator complained rather peevishly that women "always say no when they really mean yes."  In fact, neither women nor men always do anything, but I do understand why some men accuse some women of being disingenuous.  

As a former proud, card-carrying slut, I have had loads of sex (mostly meaningless and quite forgettable) with a lots of different men.  I have never said "no" when I meant "yes".  I have occasionally said "no" when I meant, "Maybe later -- I'm not sure yet."  And once I did back out at the very last minute because a prospective partner smelled really bad, which I didn't realize until he had taken off his shoes, and I'm sorry, but ew, no no no.  And occasionally I said "no" when I was pretty sure I was going to say "yes" on the third date because -- well, I didn't want the guy to dismiss me as a "slut."

This is a topic that I wish the manosphereans and the young ladies they lust after & resent could have a really honest conversation about.  

Gentlemen, I will concede this:  Young women need to take ownership of their desires.  A woman who, at the last minute, says "no" while secretly hoping the man will ram through her explicit refusal is being fundamentally dishonest with and unfair to both herself and her partner.  And, frankly, if I were a guy, and I suspected a woman was playing me like that, I wouldn't like her one little bit.  At the very least, I wouldn't trust her any farther than I could throw her.  She sounds like a bad bet for a lot of reasons, and the last thing a man should do, under those circumstances, is proceed to fuck her.  This is where I want to grab these boys by their short hairs, and say, I know you're horny, but don't be a moron!  

Trust me, fellas:  Women want sex too.  A woman who truly wants to have sex with you, and understands that you will not proceed without her unambiguous permission, will step up to the plate.  And if such a woman loses respect for you because your deference strikes her as somehow unmanly, well, this is a person with some issues you are better off staying well clear of. 

Nobody has ever died of blue balls.  In fact, back in the day before people expected instant gratification of every imaginable appetite, all that built up "frustrating" tension could result in some ultimately intense, explosive release.  Try to think of sex as a ride, not just a destination.

And so what if you "miss" a particular sexual opportunity and -- the horror! -- it never presents itself again?  What, are you still crying about the ice cream cone you dropped at the State Fair when you were in second grade?  Don't be such a fucking baby.

By the way, I do find the way Roosh exhorts his flying monkeys to push back against critics quite chilling.  He and Matt Forney seem to have taken a cue from Paul Elam of A Voice for Men by advocating the intimidation and harassment of young women he identifies as "hostile" to his "movement."  There's a weird sexual sadism vibe here too: he tends to target the younger, more attractive girls for these campaigns. 

Today:

1. Retweeted by Roosh

   
   

   Return Of Kings ‏@ReturnOfKings Jan 31

   @saracnelson abused her position as Huffington Post blogger to cause financial harm to one of our contributors. She may come to regret it.

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2. Retweeted by Roosh

   Return Of Kings ‏@ReturnOfKings 7h

   We're currently collecting information on @SaraCNelson, who yesterday attacked a ROK contributor http://www.rooshvforum.com/thread-32624.html …

   Expand

Yesterday:

1. 
   

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2. Roosh ‏@rooshv 6h

   @SaraCNelson started the attack against VinceNnt. Please send me any info you have about her to roosh@rooshv.com to aid our response.

   Expand 
   
   What a nasty, paranoid little shit he is. 
   
   

Roosh Asks a Question I Can Address With Some Authority

Roosh ‏@rooshv 4h

How many people do you know who became fluent in a language they started learning in their 30's?

I have been a language teacher for over thirty years, and I have to say that based on my experience, the answer to that question is, unfortunately, none.  Even young adults (early twenties) are at a marked disadvantage compared to adolescents in acquiring second language fluency.  Of course, there is individual variance.  Some people are innately gifted at languages.  I knew an Afghan guy whose oral proficiency in English was astounding considering he did not learn the language until he came to the U.S. in his mid-twenties.  Of course, he was raised bilingually (Dari and Pashto), which may be why a third language came relatively easily.  And we can look with awe at linguistic virtuosi like Conrad (who learned English in his early twenties by reading newspapers) and Nabokov (who in fact grew up with a melange of French and English governesses).  But these are the exceptions that prove the rule.

Roosh has been trying to learn Russian for a couple of years.  He has indicated he plans to stay in the FSU forever, so naturally he wants to become fluent in the lingua franca.  I for one fully support his ambition to never return to the U.S.  Unfortunately, he is probably about twenty years too late.  He needed to have moved to Ukraine when he was fourteen or fifteen years old to have had a real shot at achieving true, "native-like" fluency.

I'm surprised that Roosh, the child of Iranian parents who immigrated to the U.S. in their twenties, doesn't already know this.  He has only to look at their limited English ability after 35 years in America.

Right now I have a Korean gentleman of 80-odd years in one of my classes, and I'm happy to have him there because he is a quite pleasant person, but in terms of becoming more fluent in English?  He is a lost cause.  That doesn't mean he is wasting his time or money, necessarily:  continuing to study is probably helping him maintain his skills and providing him with all kinds of cognitive and social stimulation that is beneficial.  And he seems to be enjoying the camaraderie and companionship of being in class.

That doesn't mean that adults cannot learn a new language, simply they can never realistically hope to learn it with fluency.  The older a student is, the less successful he or she will be in being fully proficient in a second language.  This has to do with the decreasing plasticity of the areas of the brain responsible for acquiring new language and that first language acquisition does not seem possible after a critical stage (pre-puberty).  There are some interesting studies out there that I'm not in the mood to review right now -- and I'm surprised Roosh hasn't googled the research himself -- but maybe he already suspects what they're going to confirm.  

Poor Roosh!  How frustrating it must be to realize that the Russian speaking ladies he fancies will never be able to fully appreciate the depth and breadth of his intellectual prowess -- since, no matter how hard he studies those flash cards, he will be pretty much confined to eighth grade discourse with them.

And it will be hard for him to maintain the facade of being a dominant "alpha" male when he must rely on his girlfriend to navigate doctor's visits, commercial transactions, or complex social situations of any kind.  Sure, he'll be able to go out and buy a kilo of potatoes for supper, but with whom will he discuss politics and philosophy or the great issues of our day?

(Curiously, first language development can continue to improve into late middle age.)

Wrung Out

"It's a woman's prerogative to change her mind."  (unattributed quote, 17th c.?)

I Learn Something New Every Damn Day

Heather N., "evil feminist from space," has clued me in to Do Not Link, a service that allows bloggers to reference "objectionable" or "dubious" sites without rewarding those sites with countable page views.  It looks very easy to use.  Now that's a tool that anyone monitoring the manosphere can use!  (For a little more information on how to use, I refer you to skeptical blogger Tim Farley's post.)

Vienna Teng

I can't think of the last time I heard and watched something as lovely as this video by Vienna Teng.  She was in Seattle last month and I'm kicking myself cuz I missed the show.

Quack Quack Quack

If there is one thing that jacks the jaws of Angry White Guys more than feminists, it's the gays.  Which can make libertines like Roosh rather strange bedfellows with the Christian Taliban.  Or loveable rednecks like the "Duck Dynasty" clan:

The last defenders of "freeze peach?"  

Roosh ‏@rooshv 4h
Daily reminder: you are not allowed to criticize homosexuals if you want to retain your employment.

That's not exactly true.  You are probably safe in criticizing an individual homosexual on any number of grounds.  What you are not safe in doing (anymore) is criticizing homosexuality itself (unless your place of employment is, say, the Westboro Baptist Church). 

Of course Roosh is referring to the scandal du jour around Phil Robertson's "suspension" by A & E from the "Duck Dynasty" reality show.

My Facebook page was peppered today with posts from Tea Party "friends" outraged at this infringement of free speech.  So I forced myself to read what it was that Daddy Duck actually said.  The message was remarkably incoherent given its brevity:

It seems like, to me, a vagina—as a man—would be more desirable than a man’s anus. That’s just me. I’m just thinking: There’s more there! She’s got more to offer. I mean, come on, dudes! You know what I’m saying? But hey, sin: It’s not logical, my man. It’s just not logical.
 
So essentially he states his preference for vaginas versus anuses as receptacles for his manly part, which is fair enough... and also because of "sin" and "logic," which is... oh, never mind.

The point is, as me old departed mom was wont to say, "A chacun a son gout," said the old lady as she kissed the cow. And really, who watches "Duck Dynasty" but the folks who are apt to share Mr. Robertson's point of view?  But apparently A & E decided blatant homophobia no longer flies on what passes for "mainstream entertainment" these days, even on a vehicle as shamelessly low-brow as "Duck Dynasty."  Here in America, we love our white trash freaks, but we like 'em cute and affable, like the ineffable Honey Boo-Boo herself.

Kudos to Roosh for doing the right thing and reminding his impressionable readers that homophobic, sexist, transphobic, and racist remarks are likely to cause them to lose their jobs, and that the "manosphere" is, purtroppo, not "the real world" in which the vast majority of us working stiffs must function.

Hey Fat Chick!

My only concessions to vanity these days are (1) having my hair professionally colored on a strict monthly regime, and (2) biweekly manicures to maintain my "perfect" acrylic nails.  I blame the cross dressing circle I sometimes hang out with for the latter indulgence.  Their nails always look fabulous:  I know one cross dressing engineer who sprays his press-ons with model enamel and an air gun.  (Their wigs, sadly, are another story.)  For all I poke fun at the cross-dressers, who sometimes represent to me "the worst of both worlds", they have taught me a lot about how to perform my gender.  (And I knew that I had overdone my makeup when I was identified as a cross dresser in a gay bar once.)

It's not that I've become indifferent to fashion.  I love pretty clothes.  It's simply that I enjoy seeing them on other people as much as wearing them myself.  Maybe that's a function of my age.  As we get older, and our youthful beauty inevitably wanes, we turn outward, away from the mirror.  So we take up gardening, painting, photography, and other hobbies that invite us to look beyond ourselves for visual pleasure.

Unless we're Iris Apfel, that is.

When I was younger, it was an ongoing challenge for me to find fashionable clothing that fit, even though I was only a size 16-18 in college.  In high school, it wasn't being fat that held me back socially so much as not having the proper clothes to wear for dances and sports.  As a result, I learned to configure "uniforms" that basically consisted of jerseys and jeans, or black knit pants and blazers that could have doubled as kevlar armor.  I managed to look presentable (albeit a bit matronly), but dressing remained a chore, never a pleasurable means of self-expression.

That's why I find the young "fatshionistas" (of widely varying degrees of girth) on blogs like Hey Fat Chick fun to follow.  Most of their get-ups would not be "age appropriate" for me (i.e., too too short), but sometimes I get ideas about what I could wear, and where I could obtain such items. And I'm always inspired by their gumption, their joyful defiance, their refusal to be repressed, ignored, or "shamed."

A young fat woman nowadays has an array of choices that would have boggled my mind thirty years ago.  (Unfortunately it is also true that unless she lives in a large city, she still must shop primarily online, which requires its own skill set.) And although I am not a "fat apologist" by any means, I celebrate that young women of all sizes can enjoy dressing in ways that exercise their creativity and make them feel good in their own skins. 

Giving Matt Forney a Break

I'm feeling remorseful about my treatment of Matt Forney after an exchange with a gal on "Jezebel" who knew him in high school.

She wrote:

This guy went to my high school. It actually makes me laugh when I read this stuff because the image he creates for himself is SO HILARIOUSLY FAR from reality. I remember him as an overweight, pants up to his boobs, trombone player who ran to class like a duck and couldn't look any attractive girl in the eye. 

and also this:

It is pretty sad when I think about it. I'm not sure he was ever categorically bullied but he was certainly socially excluded in school. I'd be surprised to learn he had any friends. If he actually believes any of what he writes, it will be because for years he recognized what other people saw him as, a band geek that looked 12 when he was 17. A weirdo who could never get a girl's attention, an outsider. Even calling himself "the most hated man on the internet" is telling, everything he writes is a cry for acknowledgment. He doesn't care if you hate him as long as you see him! It's a way for him to collect some personal power that he hasn't owned his whole life. I'd be curious to know what his family life was like...

My heart cracks a little to know that at seventeen, he looked twelve.  And now at 25, he looks forty.  Has this guy ever caught a break in the looks department?  The only compensation for premature balding is that when he actually is forty, he probably won't look much different.

Of course, I wouldn't have seen her comments if he hadn't linked to them on his own twitter feed.  But that's the perverse rationale of these would-be provocateurs:  there's no such thing as "bad" attention.  Indeed, they seem to find it highly stimulating.

Her words threw into sharp relief the pain that drives guys like Matt Forney.  Not for the first time, I feel remorse for mocking him.  You see, I can empathize with the high school reject he was.  I hated high school too.  I wasn't bullied, or a social pariah, but I was a perennial outsider who attended four schools in three years.  Somehow, despite skipping as much class as I attended, I managed to graduate, most likely because I had made myself so "invisible" that my teachers never noticed I was missing.  I would be amazed if any of my graduating class could even recall my name or face.  What sustained me, as I drifted through late adolescence in a kind of fugue state, was the conviction that everything would change once I got to college and my "real" life began.  (Yes, I had my own "It Gets Better" campaign running through my head long before Dan Savage dreamed that mantra up.)

Do any of us completely recover from the trauma of early social rejection?  It certainly shapes our personalities, for better or worse (and, unfortunately, as Forney demonstrates, usually worse).  Forney himself once described me as someone suffering from "narcissistic injury" and I thought, Yeah, well, right back at ya, kid!  I'm honestly not sure what that bit of psychoanalytical jargon even means, but maybe he was right.  I don't know; I don't care.  I am older than guys like Matt, and I ought to be wiser.  And more compassionate.

I think again of the epiphany Lindy West experienced when she saw Forney's former "vlog" on Youtube (now removed).  Although she doesn't refer to him by name, it is obvious she is referring to this particular "troll" when she explains how she realized, while watching it, that there was nothing he could say that could hurt her worse than the hurt he himself lives every day.  And of course she is absolutely right.

Matthew Forney ‏@realmattforney 2h

Only losers obsess over the past. Fuck what you were like as a teenager; what are you doing NOW? THAT is what defines who you are.

True enough, but when what you are doing now is widely viewed as destructive, people are apt to scrutinize your formative years in an effort to identify the source of your pathology.  And what Matt seems to be doing now is playing out a script that was written in his own troubled and not-so-distant adolescence.

Damn, life is sad, isn't it?  And complicated too.

Bridegroom

I defy anyone who has ever loved -- or who has ever wanted to love or be loved -- not to be profoundly moved by this young man's story:

This simple heartfelt video upload on Youtube inspired the documentary Bridegroom, which has been shortlisted as one of the best of 2013.  It makes an emotionally powerful case for giving gay couples the right to marry.

Of course, if there is one group that the New Misogynists fear and loathe more than "feminists", it's teh gayz.  (And teh tranz. And anyone else who is not hetero-normative according to Old Testament standards.)

It makes sense, in a way.  Variances in gender identity and orientation really mess with their most cherished core delusions about their rightful position in the world, about the very nature of human nature.  It's not surprising, either, that they have come up with various flimsy theories to explain male homosexuality which lay the blame on modern women (their unseemly bids for dominance, their nasty hypergamous ways).  Roosh, predictably, has posited that American men turn gay because of a lack of attractive, available female partners.  

It seems at first a stunningly weak theory given the scores of historical heart-throbs who had to hide their homosexuality lest they disappoint their legions of female fans (Richard the Lion-Hearted, Rock Hudson, Rudolf Nureyev, and Dirk Bogarde spring immediately to this female mind).  

Dirk Bogarde (sigh!)

However, while I was living in the middle east, I talked to a number of men who cited the strict sexual segregation of those societies to "explain" the undeniable existence of homosexuality.  And certainly people (and other animals) that would otherwise seek heterosexual pair bondings will make certain... accommodations... in captivity.  Still, it's hard to make the case that 21st century western societies, with their slutty, liberated women, are driving men into each other's arms.
  
In a conversation Roosh reports, he asks a gay man whether he "pitches" or "catches."  For a guy with Roosh's cultural baggage heritage, this is a crucial distinction, because in Iran and Turkey, the one who penetrates is perceived as "less gay" than the one who is penetrated, and that is because he is assuming the dominant, "masculine" role.  In other words, it's not the sexual act that defines one's sexuality, but the role one performs in said sexual act.  The "active" player maintains his masculinity, whereas the "passive" one forfeits his, and is thereby degraded ("feminized").  (This dogged insistence on gender-determined roles also helps explain why the Iranian government offers gay males the option of sexual reassignment surgery as an alternative to hanging.)  One of the lessons I learned from spending twenty years in the near and middle east was how culture shapes our very definition of what "homosexuality" means.

Lately, it seems that Roosh has been ramping up his anti-gay rhetoric, lauding the homophobic policies of Putin and the promotion of horrific anti-gay thuggery in the former Soviet Union.  This is just one way that the New Misogynists are oblivious to the way the global winds are blowing in favor of increased tolerance.

It's only been one year since Washington passed marriage equity, yet it's already hard for me to remember when gay colleagues were chary of mentioning their partners at work.  Watching the documentary Bridegroom this afternoon reminded me there's still a road to travel, but all the squawking and flailing of the "manosphere" or other far right reactionary groups will not stop the acceptance of gay civil rights.  And in that small way, at least, the world is becoming a better place.

Seduce and Destroy!

I'm among those who believe "Magnolia" is a great movie, not least of which is due to the incredible performance Tom Cruise gives as the toxic, emotionally crippled PUA guru, Frank T. J. Mackie.  Made in 1999, it still holds up well, and certainly Cruise has not had a role that rivals it since.  Also, the soundtrack by Aimee Mann is awesome.  You can watch the entire film on Youtube if you haven't seen it.  (Someone should have told Roosh this was a cautionary tale, not an instructional video!)

The Lies the New Misogynists Tell Each Other

Duck Enlightenment ‏@jokeocracy 4h

in my experience self identifying as a feminist correlates very strongly with liking to get choked during sex

Retweeted by Matthew Forney

I don't know if that is a lie, of course.  Maybe in Duck Enlightenment's experience, this has been true.  But more likely it is true only in Duck Enlightenment's fantasies.  

I also don't know many women who self-identify as feminists although most of them accept gender equality as part of the social fabric of our modern western lives.  How would this come up in conversation with a guy like Duck Enlightenment, I wonder. I've talked quite frankly with a lot of women about sex, and no woman has ever admitted to me a predilection for being choked during sex.  That doesn't mean there aren't women who do like that sort of thing, of course.  It just suggests to me if is not as common as, say, a predilection for cunnilingus or quietly powerful vibrators.  

If someone tried to choke me, I would be frankly terrified.  (Once a man who had perhaps seen one porn too many unexpectedly slapped my butt.  I burst into tears, more from shock than pain, which put an abrupt end to the ongoing proceedings.)

But it's not about verifiable or experienced truth, is it?  It's about maintaining a belief system that justifies the contempt of women.  Read these guys' twitter feeds, or scan the ROK and Roosh forums: pages and pages of guys exchanging their fantasies in the guise of experiences.  Lies upon lies, repeated until they achieve the well-worn patina of versimilitude.

 

Becoming a Vegetarian Despite PETA

I've been following PZ Myers for a few months and you'll see he's on my blog list under Pharyngula.  He's an atheist, whereas I would put myself in the agnostic camp, so I don't always agree with his hard line against theists.  He's a scientist as well, so I don't always understand the science he's describing, but I find the topics interesting nevertheless.  I admire his energy, intellectual vigor, honesty, and courage in being able to see the "heart" of many an issue, and to stand up for what he believes, even when it means criticizing powerful voices in his own community, or people he identifies as friends. 

So I felt myself in good company when he announced that he is embracing a vegan diet after reading a recent Rolling Stone expose of the meat industry.  I myself had come to the same resolve as a result of reading the same article with its accompanying film.

Like Myers and a gazillion other anxious liberals, I had been cutting back on meat consumption while wrestling with the moral implications of all my consumer choices.  Over the past couple of years, I have experimented with meat-free recipes and meat substitutes.  I have been buying organic milk and cage-free eggs even though it's hard, given my budget, to resist the incredibly cheap alternatives.  I've read The Omnivore's Dilemma and Animal Liberation and watched scores of documentaries on the subject.

I'm not sure why that particular article has motivated me to finally commit myself, if not fully to veganism, but at least to no longer eating or wearing the flesh of mammals.  And this motivation is not based on particular concerns for my own health, but because this is one fairly easy thing I can do to reduce the suffering of sentient beings. 

A couple of years ago I watched a documentary, the name of which I cannot remember, which was so graphic and horrifying in its depiction of the fate of animals used in research labs that I immediately dashed off a check to PETA for $200 (a significant sum for me).  Unfortunately, within a few days I had cause to bitterly regret my impulsive largesse, as PETA came forward with its notorious "Save the Whales" campaign.

The purpose of these billboards was to "fat shame" women into becoming vegans by persuading them that vegans are never fat.  This is patently untrue.  I've met a number of chubby observant Hindus, for example.  It's perfectly possible to consume enough calories to get fat with an abundance of nuts and grains, and one of my personal concerns about giving up animal flesh is that I find when I don't get plenty of protein, my "sweet tooth" takes over.

Aside from being utter twaddle, the PETA campaign's chief objective was to humiliate fat women.  The billboards were erected near beaches in Florida and California: at least one woman commented that seeing it had caused her to cancel a planned outing to the ocean with her kids, which is terribly sad.  But that is what "fat shaming" does.  It effectively discourages fat people from participating in social activities most likely to promote their physical and psychological health.  Ask any fat woman how she is received when she enters an athletic club (hell, ask me!): she is either given the "stink eye" by customers who find her appearance offensive, or she is condescended to in the most demeaning manner.  That's why people who justify "fat shaming" by claiming "concern" for others' "health" are pernicious liars, hypocrites of the worst sort.

For me, the humiliation of PETA's "Save the Whales" campaign was double, for I realized I had just thrown a wad of hard-earned cash at an outfit that had absolutely no respect for me.  In other words, I had unwittingly paid for my own humiliation.

PETA soon dismantled the campaign and apologized, but the damage to my end was done.  I had learned to dislike PETA, a disdain that persists to this day.  I couldn't get my money back, but I did insist they drop me from their membership roll.  And although I'm a fan of Joan Jett and Chrissie Hynde, my admiration for them has been, frankly, tainted by their endorsement of PETA.  I try not to look at PETA ads in magazines.  When I can't avoid seeing one, I'm always nauseated by their blatant objectification of women's bodies. 

I'm not surprised that PETA has started a new campaign that is every bit as stupid and offensive, with assertions that are not only medically unproven, but are, in fact, simply another heaping helping of "fat shaming" with a light pseudo-scientific dressing.  And that is a shame because promoting the ethical treatment of animals is important for many valid reasons.  I am fairly certain that no fat person has been coerced into turning "vegan" because some vain-glorious, celebrity-studded ad campaign "shamed" her into it.

I give small amounts of money as I am able to local animal rescue and shelter organizations where I can witness firsthand the positive results of my charity.  Now that I've learned the Humane Society is really trying to help shine a spotlight on abuses in factory farming, I'm going to shoot them some support too.  

When will PETA learn that they are turning off more people than they are winning?  I'm beginning to think that PETA is just about promoting PETA...

Get Groupies By Blogging!

Giving female fans a face for their fantasies.

This week Matt Forney teaches readers how to "get groupies by blogging."  No, really.  By following Matt's seven easy steps, any man can "enjoy a rock star life." 

You see, women are "hardwired to mate with winners" and nothing signals "conquering hero" better than a soft, goofy-looking guy who makes almost no money and sits in front of a computer most of the day cranking out vitriol while deluding himself that playing in "a crappy local band" makes him a professional musician.  See, we live in such a celebrity-crazed culture that it isn't necessary to be good at something: it's only necessary that one has a recognizable name: like, say, "Matt Forney".

Matt refers to a girl that once "not only made me breakfast, but insisted on doing my dishes, vacuuming out my living room, and dumping Drano in my toilet."  I have little doubt this happened to Matt, but he refers to the incident so often (always with the telling Drano detail), it's obvious it was a fairly singular event in his life.  Furthermore, what he takes as a girl being "suppliant" I take as a girl feeling sorry for him.  At any rate, it's not a very erotic memory, is it?  I mean, how bad does a toilet have to get to call for Drano?

Of course, Matt lays down certain caveats.  First, "most groupies reside in the middle of the attractiveness spectrum."  Really?  So Kate Hudson-as-Penny Lane was just a Hollywood fantasy after all?
 

Second, groupies don't make good long-term girlfriends because they are all "ho's" ("ho's," let it be noted, who occasionally provide fanatically high levels of housekeeping service).  

Third, geography is a major "cockblocker" for bloggers, since potential groupies tend to be dispersed around the world of Matt's imagination.  Easy to see why that presents a serious obstacle for a guy like Matt, who relies on hitch-hiking to get across the country.

Once he has responsibly forewarned his readers, Matt gets down to the business of getting girls by building blogs.  See, if Matt knows anything, it's how to get women's attention.  Apparently women on the internet like blogs about game, self-improvement (i.e., weight lifting), and punk rock because those interests make a man look "cool."  "Unacceptable topics include politics, video games and anything that makes you look angry, bitter, or nerdy."  (It's almost hard to type that last quote because even my fingers are laughing so hard.)

Then there is the matter of style.  Bloggers who attract groupies "convey strength, confidence, and mastery," just like Matt.  On the other hand, indulging in a "negative, carping tone" a la Paul Elam is the kiss of death.  Girls want winners, not whiners!  Writers like Matt himself, who project "unapologetic masculinity... establishing ourselves as dominant men who put women in their place."  Don't squander logic and reason on the likes of women, and instead engage their erotic imaginations by describing "hot" sexual encounters.  Look at the success of 50 Shades of Grey -- how difficult can it be?

But, wait, there's more!  Read Aristotle's Rhetoric (I'll put that on my reading list immediately) for the fundamentals.  Find your own voice -- but make sure that voice is deep and commanding.  Blog regularly (alternate, perhaps, with lifting?).  Network with other bloggers (cuz "no man is an island" yadda yadda yadda).  Oh, and by the way, please buy Matt's e-book on the subject (of course!).

Curiously, Matt claims it is "absolutely vital" for bloggers to post pictures of themselves.  I say this is curious advice from Matt because as far as I know, there are only two photos of Matt in the public domain, and they are only used by bloggers like me who want to mock him.  In fact, Matt took down his old "vlog" because Youtubers made such relentless fun of his, uhm, less-than-dominant presentation.

Finally, Matt cautions would-be rock stars bloggers who dream of following in his trail-blazing footsteps to "be patient."  This isn't going to happen overnight (or probably ever), but when your manosphere blog takes off, it will all be worth it.  One day you too will lie back on your satin upholstered, circular bed, like the returned king you were destined to be, and "bask in the attention of your lady fans."

Happy First Wedding Anniversary!

My boss mentioned this morning that she and her wife are planning a belated honeymoon in Hawaii over Christmas, the lucky dogs!  Some balmy weather and sunshine sounds mighty good to me right now.  We're experiencing a cold snap.  Instead of the usual unflagging drizzle, the temperatures have been plunging into the teens overnight.  

It has been a year today that Washington State has recognized marriage equality.

A year ago, my girlfriend and I helped celebrate by attending a public wedding reception at the Paramount Theater downtown.   I don't think I've ever been in the middle of such a deliriously happy crowd before.  The open (free) bar and trays of delicious donated cupcakes certainly contributed to the festive spirit.

My girlfriend and I haven't talked about getting married yet, but now that she is "legally" a woman, I'm sure we both recognized how passage of this law affects our relationship too.

I am fortunate to live in Washington, the state where I was born and raised and plan someday to retire and die -- despite our gloomy weather, insane traffic congestion, and occasional earthquakes.